Tuesday, December 31, 2013

2013 in Review

This year that thing happened and we were all like, NO WAY! And some people were naked too much, and others were wearing suits and they spoke into microphones. Then some political stuff happened, and we were like, NO WAY! ARGUE ARGUE ARGUE! But then something new happened, probably on television or in the news.

Some good TV series ended or began, and some people were like, THIS IS SO AWESOME, and others were like, "Meh."

There were some award shows, where men wore tuxedoes and women showed off their boobies, and everyone was like, "She looked this way or that!"

Then some science stuff happened, and robots. Just last year, we were all thinking, I can't believe 2012 is already over with, there was so much bullshit. What bullshit is going to happen next? And bullshit DID happen. This year we are all thinking, I can't believe 2013 is over with, there was so much bullshit, What bullshit is going to happen next?

Sports and award shows, and weather happened. There were some emergencies. Some people got all shot up and we were all sad for a few days, but then sports happened.

And economy. Gas prices were one price, and then another. There were jobs and stuff, or no jobs, and men in ties stood at microphones and said some stuff.

So anyway. Freedom 2014.

Monday, December 16, 2013


That dog made a poopy!
A poopy in the USA!
And the man who walks beside it,
Picked it up and put it in a bag!

That dog made a poopy,
Just as I was driving by,
And its human looked so silly,
With a bag of poop in hand!

That white bag is swinging,
And it is filled with poop!
That dog made a poopy,
A poopy in the USA!

Is it two snickers bars in a bag?
It's a pile of poop in a bag!
That dog made a poopy!
A poopy in the USA!

So many dogs in the USA,
Pooping and pooping their lives away,
And it's all scooped up and thrown away,
In white bags with square knots,

Saturday, December 14, 2013


Recently in the news, you may have read that a rich kid ran over four people and for his drunken crime, gets to spend time in a half-million dollar a year resort for rich people. You may be annoyed by this. But you must understand that the rich cannot possibly be expected to be thrown in jail, because they are rich. These are the aristocracy, and they are better than you and me, in every way, and the law is on their side.

It is a law that they have created in their own image, with their money, which God has bestowed on them because They are his favorite children.

They work very hard in their fancy schools to which their parents, whom God loves very much, sent them in order for them to take their rightful places in society.

It is a society in which you must struggle. You will continue to exist in this system, which works just fine, and although you may work much harder for much less, it is because you did not have the forethought to slide out of a rich lady's vagina in an expensive hospital when you were born. They had that foresight, and they are rewarded for it with all the riches in the world.

They are organized. They can pay people to devote entire careers to promote their interests in the halls of power, by giving money to their friends in the halls of power. This might seem like "bribery," but that is a vulgar term. They prefer to call it freedom of speech, so it becomes freedom of speech, and who in their right mind has a problem with freedom of speech? They can shape the laws to make sure they remain happy and rich! Would you deny them this right? You could organize too, if you had time, and since time is money, you don't have time. If only you had more money, you could take time off to organize. But who has time for that? Those bills aren't going to pay themselves.

Is it fair? Of course. The rich are organized and powerful. You could organize too, but if you do, it is probably against the law somehow, and if it isn't, it will be, because laws can be changed. If you organize enough, armored thugs with utility belts filled with torture devices will spray poison in your poor, proletariate faces and electrocute you with stun guns because you will learn your place. You live in the time of the Oligarchs, but you don't know it yet because of patriotic songs about "freedom" and "bravery," and you believe it: oh yes, you had better believe in it, because if you start to think about it too much, you might realize where you are. You will believe it until you get a whiff of pepper spay, and then you back off, for freedom.

Once you learn to know your place, it will be easier to take. But like it or not, you will take it. So know your place already.

The Rich can run over the poor because they must deal with the overwhelming burden of money and power, to which they are entitled. Being obscenely wealthy has its side effected, so how can they possibly be held responsible for their actions?  Why would they take responsibility? Who would hold them responsible? Other rich people? The law? The law belongs to them. They are above the law because they own the law. They write the law.

Now get back to work Proles. Know your place and be thankful the incredibly wealthy are out there, running people over, writing laws, fixing elections, gerrymandering, closing factories and speaking to you on giant screens.

Because Freedom.

Wednesday, December 04, 2013


Spoonbending is coming back! You've read about it all over the Internet, you've seen it on the news. Perhaps you've seen the flyers in the coffee shops! Everyone is spoonbending, and of course, you want to get in on this hot new trend!

Spoonbending is simple. Get an ordinary spoon. Hold the spoon by the "neck," that supple, narrow part of the spoon under the spoon part where the soup goes. Don't put soup in it. This is a clean spoon. Don't put it in your mouth. No. We are repourposing the spoon to amaze and astound our friends and family.

Hold the spoon between your thumb and forefinger, so the handle hangs down (by gravity!) and the scoopy part is up above where you're holding it, which is the neck (See the above paragraph, above).

Now you've got it by the neck. That spoon knows who is in charge. Yet the neck of the spoon remains stubbornly solid. It is its solidity we must tackle, and we'll do it by this one simple trick:

Simply empty your mind of all conscious thought and completely vaporize your ego, so that you are empty phenomenon, holding what? Nothing! The spoon is gone, and so are you! Now the spoon bends . . . in your mind. The spoon is still exactly as it was before, but will anyone see it? No! You no longer want to impress anyone by spoonbending, because you are now selfless phenomena, one with the universe, and the spoon! Get it?

But that is a cop out. Let's get real. Let's really bend that spoon: How to really bend spoons: First, you need a guru. Perhaps you know some bearded gentleman in your neighborhood. If you are picturing an old, wise Asian gentleman, or some sort of turbaned Hindu mystic, you should check yourself. That's total stereotyping, and you should stop it. God, you are such a racist sometimes, I swear. You need a guru of some sort to teach you mental disciplines and physical calisthenics, yoga or perhaps deep breathing exercises.

Then, after months or years of training, you are ready to bend the spoon. Now: hold the spoon as described above in the above paragraphs (above). Focus all of your mental energy on the neck of the spoon, and as you do so, move the two fingers, between which you have grasped the neck of the spoon, and make tiny circles, focusing all of your mental and physical energies on that point, heating it with friction and the psionic powers you developed over your months of training with your guru, who may or may not have charged you money in the form or "donations," or "dinner," or outright fees. He has to eat, you know. "All of the guru powers in the world don't change the fact that people have rent. I mean Jesus Christ, I can't live on good vibes you know. Why are you always such a tight ass? We talked about that. Your materialism is what's holding you back. And the issues you have at work." So anyway. Make small circles. You will feel your life-force focused exclusively on that point of the neck of the spoon. You might feel doubts. A thought might flutter through you mind, even for a moment, "I should have gone to college like my parents wanted me to," or, "What am I compensating for, trying to bend this spoon? Isn't there some better way to spend my time?" or "I think this 'guru' is taking advantage of me. I've never seen him bend a spoon." Ignore these distractions. Focus. Focus on that god-damned spoon. That spoon that insists on being so solid. Convince it that it is not solid. "You are a spoon, bend already. Jesus Christ, the embarrassment alone should bend you in half. Everybody's thinking this isn't going to happen. Why didn't I practice this alone? They already think I'm a freak, and now this." Make excuses, and after the awkwardness, don't leave right away, or everyone will think it is because you are embarrassed. Have a drink, laugh it off, make some small talk, and then get the hell out of there and try to regroup.

Okay: how to bend a spoon with your mind: This is serious this time, so pay close attention to every word I'm about to lay down, because this is some mind-expanding stuff right here.

Hold the spoon as described in the above paragraphs. BY THE NECK. Got it? Okay. Now: picture someone who is dead. Patrick Swayze is a good choice, because he helps people with various arts and crafts, but he isn't the only choice. What you need is someone from "the other side" to bring a blowtorch from "the other side." I know it sounds fantastic, but if you don't believe in spiritual stuff like ghosts and afterlives, why don't you open up your mind and stop being such a damned nihilist? I mean, if there's no afterlife, what's the point of all this? You always do this! You're always so negative about stuff, no wonder you can't bend the spoon. Can't there be any mysteries in life? Does everything have to be a lab experiment with you? So cold. So god damned cold and clinical. Wait, where was I? Oh yes. Other suggestions would be people who were famous for welding . . . did I just open my web browser and Google "famous welders?" Possibly. Did I find any? Not really. As far as I can tell, there are no seriously "famous" welders you could summon from the Indescribable Paradox of The Afterscape to bring a welding torch to heat the spoon enough to allow you to bend it. Summoning a demon is always a bad idea, although they bring their own heat and could melt the spoon in a snap, but they always want something in return, and I'm not about to go into it, but it is bad news. Believe me. So demon summoning is out. So you are stuck with a spirit of the dead, and I'm thinking the only dead person that could help would be Patrick Swayze, who, as far as I can tell (from his Wikipedia page) has no welding experience, but he does things in clay, and even though that doesn't apply here, for all we know, he could have taken welding in shop class in high school. Anywhoo, summon the spirits of the dead to bend the spoon, somehow.

I think that covers the basics. After reading this essay, you should be able to perform the following tasks:

1. bend spoons with your mind.

Tuesday, December 03, 2013


I would like to write some vehement propaganda. I would like it to be widely read and influential. Not only on the Internet, but also in newspapers, books, universities, churches, and discussed at length on television. My vehement propaganda will be controversial, at first. But with the right combination of well reasoned arguments, jingoistic nationalism, junk science, pop psychology, magical thinking, and neuro-linguistic programming, I want it to influence a vast majority of both the reading and non-reading public. Influential think tanks and shadowy groups of paranoid conspiracy theorists will huddle together to discuss the precepts of my vehement propaganda. Various television personalities and influential thinkers will argue, scream, and come to blows while debating the various sublime aspects of my vehement propaganda.

My vehement propaganda will create unexpected alliances between formerly diametrically opposed groups, who will consolidate and simultaneously obliterate political and economic power based on the theories and clear incremental planning that will be found within the dense, massive volumes of my vehement propaganda. Vast worldwide upheavals in the socio-economic framework in which we currently live will leave society unrecognizable. Some who are great will fall, and others who are obscure will triumph in the unpredictable aftermath of my vehement propaganda. Who can question it? My vehement propaganda will defy logic. It will redefine logic in its own image. Conventional ideas about gender, class, race, creed, wealth and poverty, day and night, up and down will be rendered obsolete by the sheer weight of the towering arguments found in the hallowed pages of my vehement propaganda.

Will there be marching? Possibly. Armbands? Perhaps. But only if, decades after I am dead, or at least rumored dead, with those enduring rumors that I am really alive even after the span of my mortal years are long past, only when my vehement propaganda can be twisted by wicked men who rise to power after I am no longer around, only then will come the marching and the armbands and the military parades. But until that unfortunate (and unavoidable) time, my vehement propaganda is for the people. You know who you are. For you! The backbone of what makes society work! Those of you capable of understanding. Those of you who are awake! You are the ones who get it; my vehement propaganda is for you. Without you, it is nothing. Alone, we are helpless. But together, you, me, the magna populorum, and my vehement propaganda, we will unmake and make the world. I would like to write some vehement propaganda. I would like it to be widely read and influential.

Thursday, November 28, 2013


I am also thankful that tomorrow we can all once again start taking everything for granted.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013


General Eisenhower was the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe, and I don't know about you, but I think that is one kick-ass job description.

As a boy growing up in Kansas, Eisenhower converted a small barn into a makeshift laboratory, where he invented the Internet, the National Highway System, and NASA. Young Dwight was a childhood friend of Clark Kent and Dorothy Gale.

But then, a threat emerged in Europe, and our three young friends joined the army, fighting the Nazis and having adventures. Who can forget the stirring images of Eisenhower, Superman and Dorothy Gale leading the charge onto the beaches of Normandy?

Finally, on April 30th 1945, Eisenhower tracked Das Feuer to the Berlin bunker and killed Adolf Hitler after an exhausting shirtless knife fight while a terrified Eva Braun looked on. It ended with Eisenhower slowly pushing his Bowie knife into a wheezing Hitler. Eisenhower said. "Shhh, shh. It will be over soon. Shhhh." Hitler's disgraceful last words were, " Ich habe gerade gekackt ein wenig." ("I just pooped a little.") With this knife fight, Eisenhower won World War II, launching the careers of a both Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg.

On his Internet blog, IKE'S PLACE, Eisenhower warned: "In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist." And we totally guarded against that, and whew, we dodged a bullet on that one. No misplaced power here. No way.

He once punched Joseph McCarthy in the face and said, "Cool it with the witch hunt stuff man, this is America."

Eisenhower had absolutely nothing to do with 1953 coup in Iran and all of its unintended consequences. Nope.

Moving on: He proclaimed that, "Blacks and whites should be able to go to school together. Stop being such racist dicks you guys," and everyone was like, "General Eisenhower killed Hitler, we better do what he says," and so ended racism.

After WWII, General Eisenhower was Army Chief of Staff for Harry S. Truman, but after killing Hitler, ending racism, averting the police state, and inventing the Internet, being a "Chief of Staff" was a letdown. "I used to be Supreme Allied Commander, by comparison, this sucks," so he pursued his destiny and went on to become the 13th President of Columbia University.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013


The only thing better than bacon is more bacon. I am thankful for Ham. Hamburger. Steak. Salisbury steak. Sausage. Sausage links with bacon. Salmon. Those red circles on pizza. Fish sticks. Catfish. Chicken. Large chicken (known as LC, or turkey). Fried chicken. Chicken nuggets. Buffalo. Buffalo wings. Pork roast. The various meats found in various chilies and stews. Bacon.

I am thankful for cheese. Aged cheese, American cheese, Swiss cheese. I am thankful for the shredded and wheeled cheeses. Also the various wedges of fancy aged cheese.

I am thankful that various meats and cheeses can be combined to make various foods, like cheeseburgers, pizzas, and various lasagnas. Sometimes various meats and cheeses can be placed in a basket, and given as a tasty gift. They can be placed gently on crackers (even saltines!), and the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Various meats and cheeses later went on to become our 34th President. 

Monday, November 25, 2013


I am thankful for Bruce, the guy who brings in the grocery carts at the supermarket where food comes from. He is always cheerful. He always greets everybody with "HI, THANKS FOR COMING BY" or "HAVE A NICE DAY," or sends them off with a "COME AGAIN SOON," or "THANKS FOR SHOPPING" or some variation like that. He's very enthusiastic. He's there every day. He's got a bit of a limp. He seems mentally challenged, but I don't know, I could be wrong. Thing is, he's happy doing what he's doing, he's as dependable as an atomic clock, and I'm just glad he's there. At first, I found him annoying. STOP BEING SO GOD DAMNED CHEERFUL, I would scream at him (in my mind), but now I wouldn't have it any other way. We need more people like Bruce, and less people who don't even bother to put their carts back in those collection racks because they're too busy being "successful" and "busy" and "fulfilled," or whatever self-centered bullshit they're up to. Bruce is everything good and hopeful in this world. Unstressed by the news, or politics, or "the economy," he lives his life day to day. What bliss. He alone is immune to the bullshit churned in overactive brains. What merciful disregard for all of the dumb things that nag at us. Here is an example of a kindhearted soul. Bruce should be in charge. Not a cruel thought in his head. Here is compassion and wisdom. He minds his own business. He cares about others. Collecting shopping carts when he should robed and revered as a holy man. He should sit on a throne, and people would come to him and say, "Bruce, tell us your wisdom," and he would say, "Be nice."

He would later go on to become our 34th President.

Saturday, November 23, 2013


Today is Saturday, and that means sugary cereal, footie pajamas, and violent cartoons! I am thankful for sugar, harvested by machete in the cane fields of Hawaii, and the corn flour blend fields of Nebraska, where corn flour blend plants stand taller than a man for miles and miles. I am thankful for the whole grain yellow corn flour paddies of Asia, and the degerminated yellow corn flour mines of Moria, where degerminated yellow corn flour is mined by the stoic dwarves of Middle Earth. I am thankful for wheat flour from Kansas, and whole grain oat flour from the whole grain trees of Florida. I am thankful for oat fiber from the Hanging Oat Flour Gardens of Babylon, and soluble corn fiber, harvested by the corn fiber divers of Japan: a corn fiber diver of Japan can stay underwater for seven or eight minutes at a time. 

I am thankful for the hydrogenated vegetable oil drillers of Texas, who drill thousands of feet below the earth to extract this precious resource. I am thankful for salt, collected by following absentminded girls on rainy days. I am thankful for "red 40", painstakingly harvested through backbreaking labor by immigrant workers under harsh conditions from the beautiful yet deadly red 40 poinsettias. I am thankful for Natural Flavor, which is the indefinable essence brought into being by meditating monks in Tibetan temples. Natural Flavor is collected like dew from the low ceilings of their solitary cells, and carted down mountain trails by Sherpas in handcrafted glass bottles with cork stoppers inscribed with mysterious koans. I am thankful for Blue 2, extracted from the ice below Superman's Fortress of Solitude by Intuit villagers rowing outrigger canoes. I am thankful for turmeric color, mined from the surface of the planet mars by blind robots that worship a forgotten god. I am thankful for yellow 6, rubbed patiently from the Lotus flowers of Nepal by virgin Buddhist nuns. 

I am thankful for annatto color, which is dreamed by four Precogs floating in a nutritional bath in a futuristic police headquarters. The elusive annatto color is captured by computer and converted from digital to analog signal, which is then scraped from the solder joints of circuit boards within the Metabase computer. Annatto color isn't actually a physical thing, but a concept brought forth by complicated algorithms within the Metabase, a byproduct of pre-crime screening. Annatto color is very rare, difficult to harvest, and you should be damned lucky it is in your Fruit Loops, for which I am thankful. God Bless America. I am thankful for blue 1, which is scraped from the surface of blueberries by Army widowers, and mixed with their tears to enhance flavor. 

And finally, I am thankful for BHT, as everyone knows, is Butylated hydroxytoluene, also known as butylhydroxytoluene, is a lipophilic organic compound, chemically a derivative of phenol, that is useful for its antioxidant properties. European and U.S. regulations allow small percentages to be used as a food additive. While there may be some dispute in BHT's use in the human diet, the chemical is widely used in industry wherever oxidation in fluids (e.g. fuel, oil) and other materials must be treated, and free radicals must be kept in check and I totally did not just cut and paste that last part from Wikipedia. BHT was developed in the childhood laboratory of our 34th President.

Friday, November 22, 2013


Without our Interstate Highway System, there would be no Smoky and The Bandit. Smoky and The Bandit launched the career of a fresh-faced former Nun named Sally Field. Jackie Gleason was great in that movie. If you don't remember the line, "Daddy, the top came off!" you're missing out on a great movie line. Plus, with our Highway system, you can drive all over the place. Texas. You could drive to Texas. Or Washington (the state or the capital) or any of the other states. Construction was authorized in 1956, and ya'll know what that means: It is the brainchild of our 34th President. So DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency ) created the Internet, which led to Google Maps. And the Internet Highway System is INSIDE GOOGLE MAPS, which is INSIDE THE INTERNET. Mind. Blown. And you are reading this ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB instead of from a Xeroxed paper in a coffee shop (with no WIFI) in the early nineties. You are welcome. 

Wednesday, November 20, 2013


When everyone sleeps, the combined weight of billions of heavy eyelids pulls the sun down, and that's why we sleep at night, or that’s why it is night while we sleep. Science doesn't know. Sleep researchers say stuff, I suppose, but I'm too lazy to look that up right now.

If everyone stayed awake at the same time, all of the open eyes would use up all the sunlight, and the sun would burn out, and no one wants that. The stars shine for those who stand the watches of the ungodly hours, and those who fret and lie awake and yearn for the solace of sleep.

I am thankful for the one thing we all agree on, besides breathing and food: sleep. CEOs and drifters are equalized for a few hours. Their material things are equally uselessness. Muslims, Christians and Jews, all believe, for a few hours, nothing, and are at peace. No one is so busy, hateful, or stupid to not sleep.

I am thankful for the death rehearsal.
I am thankful for the ultimate peace before the ultimate peace.
I am thankful for the innocence of unconsciousness.
I am thankful for temporary oblivion before permanent oblivion.
I am thankful for sleep. The universal reset. The snuggled snooze of billions of temporarily harmless souls.

When we dream, our relaxed brains pick up the thoughts of people on the other side of the planet because of gravity and earthworms, and that's how thoughts are recycled, so we do some of the stuff people ran out of time for on the other side of the earth. But what about the excess dreams? The moon acts as a sponge to soak up all the dreams. That's why there are dark spots on the moon. Those are dreams. The moon is held up by dreams, and it scoots—moved by the same force that moves Ouija board thingies—to the edge of the sky at some point because the sun is waiting to come up, and they have this awkward thing (they used to date) so she hides whenever he shows up, although everybody thinks they should get back together, but—oh, it's a whole thing, I'm not going to rehash it—so anyway, the story is that the moon goes down to make room for the sun. When you see the moon during the day, that means somebody is taking a nap and slacking off!

By now you're wondering, what does this have to do with our 34th President? Well, as you know, in the 1950s, everything was in black and white. (That's why photos from that time are black and white. duh) and we dreamed in color. Well not anymore. Not after our 34th President. Coincidence? You decide.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013


Saltine crackers are delicious. They are good under sardines, smoked oysters, little squares of cheese, ham, jalapeno peppers, and peanut butter. The "manna from heaven," in the bible was packages of saltines. The "ambrosia," in Greek mythology was also saltine crackers. Saltine crackers have thirteen holes in them. Saltines later went on to become our 34th President.

Monday, November 18, 2013


The Hivemind is everywhere. It watches us. It connects us. It keeps us safe. It sells us products. It fixes our spelling. It forgives our bad grammar. It shortens our focus. It guesses our intentions. It predicts our actions. It helps us remember birthdays. With the Hivemind, we are never alone. We think about it when we are not participating in it, and we bask in its glow when we connect with it. It gives us a feeling of accomplishment. The Hivemind was developed in the sixties. When someone "likes" something we have done, it stimulates the nucleus accumbens,[1] and who doesn't want the nucleus accumbens stimulated? Am I right ladies? And gentlemen? lol.

It gave us "lol."

With the Hivemind, all information is accessible. Communication is instantaneous. We are all one with the Hivemind. The Hivemind is safe, non addictive, and provides accurate, non-biased information at all times. The Hivemind is the brainchild of our 34th President. *
1.  http://healthland.time.com/2013/08/31/this-is-your-brain-on-facebook/
* by pure coincidence, this is sort of true.

Friday, November 15, 2013


I am thankful for a thousand forgotten Thursdays. I am thankful for unobserved dew covered spider webs on spring mornings near dilapidated barns. I am thankful for routing tables, IP addresses, the unrecorded thoughts of Shakespearean characters, the question of existence vs. non-existence, and medieval drawings of imaginary creatures. I am thankful for unheard trees falling in remote forests. I am thankful for languages I won't know, religions I won't follow, and various kinds of welding. I am thankful for engineering and medicine. I am thankful for the violins in the song "Kashmir." I am thankful for the sighs of aging strangers on distant continents. Empty sunlit afternoon sidewalks. I am thankful for untaken photographs and the airy space in the lower boughs of well formed trees. The unspoken names of all the sparrows in the world. I am thankful that somewhere, someone is being born who I will never know, who will live out a complex, unique life and never know that you or I or anyone reading this ever existed. I am thankful for the smell of library books. I am thankful for weekday waves on deserted Caribbean beaches. I am thankful for questions about free will and determinism. I am thankful for the Latin terms for rare medical conditions. I am thankful for slide rules, multiplication tables, old tide charts, almanacs, and forgotten hand-silhouette turkeys in Big Chief tablets. I am thankful for the pretentious hackwork of listing unrelated things, and the calculated cowardice of false humility. I am thankful for half remembered phrases of classical music. I am thankful for the souls of forgotten spreadsheets and the sad memories of empty filing cabinets. I am thankful for dust motes in sunbeams in for-lease office spaces. I am thankful for the forgotten chance genius of drunks and stoners. I am thankful for solitary nuns in desolate suburban afternoon churches. I am thankful for thirty-year-old copies of TV Guide in abandoned Arizona desert doublewide trailers. I am thankful for the olfactory scheme of dogs, the Dewey Decimal System, and scientific discoveries that will happen a thousand years from today. I am thankful for comedy sketches yet unwritten. I am thankful for unwanted glass knick-knacks in Goodwill and Salvation Army stores. I am thankful for new music I will never appreciate. I am thankful for changing fashion and geologic time. I am thankful for esoteric terms used by pompous wine tasters. I am thankful for Euclidean geometry and the Earth's rotation. I am thankful for tinnitus and the DNA damage theory of aging. I am thankful for the New York Stock Exchange, solar flares, and whatever is beyond observable space. I am thankful for the failures and achievements our 34th President. I am thankful for quiet moments of contemplation happening everywhere. I am thankful for "everything subtle, complex, abstract and profound." I am thankful for the countless things and unthings for which I am unaware that I should be thankful.
Full disclosure: the phrase "everything subtle, complex, abstract and profound" is lifted directly from the Epilogue of a book:
Dobelli, Rolf. The Art of Thinking Clearly. New York, Harper Collins, 2013. Print 

Thursday, November 14, 2013


Today I am thankful for not having to be over the top every day. Sometimes you can't always bring your "A" game, you know? Sometimes you just need to take it easy and coast a little. It's a long month. Gotta pace yourself. I'm thankful for being able to "half-ass" it once in awhile, and no one really noticing. Don't want to burn out halfway through. You know who else knew this? Our 34th President.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


Chicken comes from stores and restaurants, and can be found in various shapes and configurations. Nugget chickens are raised at various smaller stores that sell hot food. I am thankful for chicken because chicken is the default "meat" taste. When viewing sporting events, chicken becomes naturally spicy. Chicken is an important part of the food triangle. Chicken is important to me because without chickens, we would have no eggs. Without eggs, there would be no scrambled eggs, or cake, or scrambled cake. Also, I am thankful for eggs, because without eggs, there would be no chicken, and without chicken, there wouldn't be LARGE CHICKEN (LC) otherwise known by its street name, "turkey." No turkey, no Thanksgiving. Also, chicken went on to become our 34th President.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013


Why? Because you have a great need for other people to like and admire you. You have a tendency to be critical of yourself. You have a great deal of unused capacity which you have not turned to your advantage. While you have some personality weaknesses, you are generally able to compensate for them. Disciplined and self-controlled outside, you tend to be worrisome and insecure inside. At times you have serious doubts as to whether you have made the right decision or done the right thing. You prefer a certain amount of change and variety and become dissatisfied when hemmed in by restrictions and limitations. You pride yourself as an independent thinker and do not accept others' statements without satisfactory proof. You have found it unwise to be too frank in revealing yourself to others. At times you are extroverted, affable, sociable, while at other times you are introverted, wary, reserved. Some of your aspirations tend to be pretty unrealistic. Security is one of your major goals in life. You went on to become our 34th President.

I am also thankful for the Forer Effect.

Monday, November 11, 2013

War Stuff for Freedom or Whatever

This Veterans day, lets not stop at honoring Vets who have already dealt with War Bullshit; lets be sure in the fact that some asshole in a suit somewhere is cooking up some new War Bullshit, so our children and eventually, their children will get to deal with some War Bullshit. It'll probably involve getting oil or China or something. Then we'll convince ourselves it was totally worth it. And then they'll make movies about it and do ceremony stuff before sporting events. For freedom or whatever.

Sunday, November 10, 2013


Bob Newhart, our 34th
President, established
the Fire Dept. System.
"Fire Good!" Even the Frankenstein monster finally realized that fire is good. Without fire, it would be winter both outside AND inside, and no one wants that. Fire was invented in 1933 by Nikola Tesla in response to the rising threat of Communism.

Today we use fire for many useful pastimes, such as cooking, home heating, and the combustion engine. During the Fire Embargo of the 1970s, fire shortages crippled the economy, and this led the Newhart Administration to establish the Fire Department System, which endures to this day.

Friday, November 08, 2013


Without air, there would be no Wright Brothers, because an airplane works because of differential air pressure on a wing foil as it passes through air. No Wright Bros., no airplanes. No airplanes, no Fantasy Island. No Fantasy Island, no Hervé Villechaize saying "De Plane! De Plane!" I don't want to live in a world where that didn't happen.

Air: without air, we would all have to wear spacesuits. I wouldn't want to live in a world where we all wore spacesuits. Plus, Hervé Villechaize in a tiny spacesuit is horrifying.

Not only that, there would be no movie, "The Boy In The Plastic Bubble," (he wouldn't need a bubble, he would always be in a spacesuit) That movie in turn inspired the "Bubble Boy" episode on Seinfeld. That was hilarious! "Moops?"

None of that would have happened, and even if it had happened, it would have happened in spacesuits. Not as awesome.

And anyway, giving everyone spacesuits wouldn't even work, because there would be nothing to refill the air tanks with, so we would die.

Can you imagine? A landscape filled with spacesuits, which would in turn be filled with human skeletons? The malls filled with spacesuit-wearing skeletons, hospital nurseries with basinets filled with tiny skeletons in tiny spacesuits, lifeless old-folks' homes with wheelchairs full of lifeless spacesuit-wearing skeletons, and highways filled with wrecked cars, which in turn would contain space-suited human skeletons, mold growing on the surface of their Starbucks Lattes. Think about it. Now you're thankful for air, huh?

With no air, there would be no early sailing ships. {no wind ya'all} No early sailing ships, no pilgrims, and NO THANKGIVING!

{mind blown}

And even if we had managed to have a Thanksgiving in our rudimentary space suits, we could never have given smallpox-infected blankets to the Indians, because the smallpox would never kill them because they would always be wearing their Indian spacesuits, so they would have eventually wiped us out with their plasma rifles. (They wouldn't have arrows, because arrows are made of wood, and can a tree grow in a vacuum? I think not. Think these things through people!)

No, it would be nothing but herds of spacesuit-wearing buffalo and spacesuit-wearing Indians riding spacesuit-wearing horses.

Nope, I don't want to live in that world. So today I am thankful for Air.

Saturday, November 02, 2013


I am against the use of military drones within the borders of the United States, with one exception:

People using leaf blowers.

I know this sounds harsh, but the 2nd Amendment covers the right to keep firearms, and although thousands of people lose their lives to gun violence every year, people have the right, so whatever. It doesn't cover leaf blowers, because our founding fathers knew that leaf blowers were fucking horrible.

I'm glad I don't own a firearm, because if I did, I would walk over and shoot that motherfucker right in his fucking face.

Leaf blowers? Leaf blowers are an abomination. I hope there is a special place in hell for people who use their awful, noisy, stupid leaf blowers on what would otherwise be a peaceful, beautiful fall Saturday morning.

Guess what I'm listening to, right now, as I type this? Some lazy-ass, no good, fucked up neighbor of mine, running his god-damned leaf blower.

Use a rake you lazy-ass motherfucker.

Please NSA, please read this and put together a comprehensive security plan that would allow military drones to tomahawk missile these motherfuckers and their leaf-blowers straight to hell. Leave a god-damned smoking crater in their fucking yard, where the gently falling leaves can quietly accumulate over the years.


for the record: I would never shoot or otherwise harm in any way anybody, ever. this is a writing exercise. Jesus Christ.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

doug discovers a new "feature" on his phone

"Yes, I can hear you."
"Yes, it's always been able to do this."
"I know, it's a ph—"
"It's a phone Doug. That's what it was designed to—"

Friday, October 25, 2013


Falling asleep,
The heavy-lidded
Cotton brain
Of half-formed
Random thoughts—
The gravitational pull
Of a perfectly-sized
On half-helpless
Lazy bones.
The book
Half-fallen in slackening hands—
The flinch
Of half-dreamt stumbles
And imagined falls—
The cloistered night
Brings singing frogs
Or oscillating fans—
Invisible dogs
In distant barking
Moonlight-gilded streets—
The black-grass
Vacant front-yard distant highways—
Falling asleep—
The deathlike slumbered
Nighttime dreaming cities—
Nocturnal thoughtscapes
Loaming through the midnight—
Death's cousin nightly
Pours through sleepy eyes
Two grains apiece
The countless sands of time.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

#37 Two Bathtubs

Two bathtubs,
Two bathtubs,
Why do they sit,
In two bathtubs?

Is there water in there?
Do they wear underwear?
Do they wear swimming suits?
Or hold hands in the nude?

Do they leave the tubs out,
When they aren't using them?
Does the plumbing connect,
So to fill them again?

Does the sun always set,
When they get in their tubs?
Will this marketing work,
When they're pushing their drugs?

Wednesday, October 02, 2013

My Short Story Collection, Free Kindle Download This Week

My short story collection, Firewood for Cannibals, is available as a free Kindle download this week.

Here's the link:  http://amzn.com/B003HS4UMQ

And here's the cover:

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Bizaro Beatitudes.

I can't believe we let Russia soften our Military Force Boner. As a nation, we need to threaten to bring peace to somebody, with precise Tomahawk missile surgical strikes, all the time. A virile and relevant nation must always threaten to attack other nations, always, otherwise that nation looks weak. And the one nation that can never look weak is the United States, because, hey, we aren't weak! "You want to fight? You think we're weak? I could beat you guys up. Because look at these missiles!  Look at these drones! Freedom and liberty you guys!"

There is no other way to do business, or solve problems, other than precision bombing in undeclared wars, for freedom.

It just feels kind of empty and quiet, without bellicose threatening of other countries, for freedom. It would be a shame to have all of these jets and stuff without using them on some heathen country that doesn't love Jesus.  Because remember how we interpret what Jesus said:
Blessed are the strong in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who win, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the proud, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who bomb and murder after righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciless, for they shall be shown mercy.

Blessed are the hard of heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the war makers, for they will be called the sons of God.

Blessed are those who persecute because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people fear you, are persecuted by you and are not allowed to say all kinds of evil against you because of me.

Be wrathful and vengeful, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

(the preceding is sarcasm, just for the record)

Saturday, September 14, 2013


I did the deed with eyes downcast; I rolled my tiny cart into the 12 Items or Less line, and silently counted my items: 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16. It was Saturday morning, and the supermarket was very busy. I looked across at the other check lanes, and they were all full of carts that were all full of goods; normally I would have gone to another lane, but so busy! I wasn't about to move.

But the shame. The shame of it. All my life, I've scoffed at those who would scoff at the orderly lining up of customers. I used to count, with a glowing sense of satisfaction, as the person in front of me would put their items on the belt. I would count. "Oh, thirteen items, eh," I would think, and then I'd feel that smug sense of self-righteousness as I recounted my ten items. Well below the limit.

But today: There I was with sixteen items. Four past the limit. I could have done with two less cans of soup. That would have put me at fourteen. The bag of chips? The jar of salsa? Those weren't even on my list. I could have squeaked in at twelve items, but no.

The old man behind me had two items. I could see it in his eyes. He knew. He was judging me. I had 16 items.

And as the checkout guy beeped across my items. 1...2...3... and eventually, the twelfth  beep: thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, SIXTEEN. Each beep announcing that here was a villain who couldn't follow the rules. Here stood a proud, conceited man who thought he was too important to wait in line with everyone else.

Burning with shame, I swiped my card, unable to muster even the courage to get cash back. I put my plastic bags in the cart and fled, and then:


I turned. The checkout guy held up a plastic bag, like an accusation. I had forgotten a bag. I had so many. In the express lane! So many that my greed and prideful disdain for the rule of law had made me forget. I slinked back and got the last bag.

Oh! Shall I ever show my face again? For shame! For shame!

Wednesday, September 11, 2013


freedom, oil
freedom, oil
freedom, freedom, freedom
war, war, lots of war,
war, war, terror, war,
war, terror, boom, boom, boom,
freedom, oil, war.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Meatless Thursdays

"Oh, no thank you, I don't eat meat on Thursdays. It's against my religion."

"What religion is that?"

"This new one I'm making up as I go along. It changes day to day, but today I don't eat meat on Thursdays."

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

#36 Something Written @ 6 AM:

Hello Gremlings, Lo: the threefast gripbooks sand the furthing. All creptpast sleeps do rumble through the gloamer. Earl-morning night bugs pray-sing twighlight creepings. All dream lore whisper-crinkle echoes fading.

Past doozing-slumber, hum of distant highway, on truck stop pavement dirt-grass cricket sloaming.

All sleepy shelf-stock shambling clock-bound watchmen, all blink-red empty intersection stoplights.

New daybreak sky-glow twinkling star-sky coolness. All coffee-clasping glow-screen web page gazers, All yawning daytime sleepy-morning shavers.

Awake. Awake the earth-turned toward the center, Awake the morning traffic making travelers, Awake the lost soul idle, useless seekers, reluctant students, craftsmen, slaves, kings and beggars all. Awake, awake, awake, the morning call.

Sunday, August 18, 2013


Oh my God, you guys, yesterday I was watching Star Trek, and the Enterprise was just cruising along, doing star mapping, and Spock was like, "prepare to photograph," and they were just taking pictures of stars and stuff, and then all of the sudden, George Takei was like, "object approaching," and the RED ALERT went off, and then this spinning cube comes up right in their grill, and Spock was like, "Captain Kirk to the bridge," but Kirk was on this weird exercise bike in sickbay, and Dr. McCoy ignored the red light, but then Kirk saw it and he was all walking around the ship without his shirt on. Kirk was like, "does anybody know what this is?" and they were all like, "I don't know," and Scotty was like, "I have no idea how it works, it's just a cube." So then, they try to get around the cube, but it kept following them, and then it started getting closer and Mr. Spock was like, "Oh no, the radiation is really bad," and they tried to get away, and one guy, the navigator, Bailey, was freaking out, and he was like, "let's shoot it," and Kirk said, "cool it mister," and then Spock was like, "the radiation is really bad you guys!" and then Kirk says, "lock phasers," and they shot it.

So then they were like, "Do we keep going on mapping and stuff?" and then the Yeoman brings Kirk a salad, cause Dr. McCoy had put Kirk on a diet, and then there's another red alert, this time a HUGE glowing sphere is in front of them, and a voice says, "I AM BALOK, COMMANDER OF THE FESARIUS, I'M GONNA BLOW YOU GUYS UP FOR DESTROYING THAT WARNING BUOY YOU GUYS! PRAY OR WHATEVER, YOU HAVE FIFTEEN MINUTES" and then everybody's freaking out, Sulu keeps saying, like "eight minutes," and they can't move or do anything, and Bailey freaks out so bad that Kirk throws him off the bridge. Then they get "visual" contact, and Balok is a blue freaky looking alien with a giant head. I was so scared you guys! And they can't think of anything to do, Kirk asks Spock what he thinks and Spock says, "we're checkmated man, it's over," and then McCoy comes in, for some reason, even though they have five minutes to live, and starts complaining about how Kirk treated Bailey, and they argue and Kirk's like, "don't bluff me," and then he gets an idea: he says, "it isn't chess, it's poker!" and then he tells Balok that the ship is made of Carbomite, (it isn't) and the ship will reflect any energy back to Balok's ship and destroy them both if Balok blows up the ship. Then the countdown continues, but Balok doesn't blow up the ship, then Balok says, "okay, fine, I'm taking you to my planet, where you'll be prisoners," so Balok puts the Enterprise in a tractor beam with a tiny ship, but it overloads Balok's ship, and then Balok sends a distress signal, and then McCoy is like, "screw that guy, let's get out of here," but Kirk is like, "what's our mission?" and he takes Bailey with him, and they beam over to Balok's ship, and it turns out that the Balok they saw was just a puppet, but it was really a kid, played by Ron Howard's brother who says, "I was just testing you guys! HA HA HA HA!" And then they have orange juice, and Bailey stayed with him for a while as an exchange program, and then he gives them a tour of his tiny ship, and they were all friends. So anyway, it was a pretty good show. So don't give up, or whatever.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

generic writing

Behind the office buildings, where Fuller meets our road, there is a copse of towering trees, cottonwoods, which sing in any breeze that might stir. The office building is brown brick, with beige rock above and below narrow windows. Two story brick cubes, with a parking lot one-quarter full. The cottonwoods are very tall. Behind and around the parking lot is all manner of crowded underbrush, bushes, ferns, trees and so forth.

There is a bit of brown wood privacy fence running across the back lot.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

#35 Tigers @ Royals July 20 2013

Verlander wasn't Verlander today,
But KC's pitcher Guthrie didn't shine,
With lots of fly balls popped up into play,
And Billy Butler splitting through the pine.

Verlander had an error in the first,
They had a passed ball later in the third,
He pitched around Butler with two outs,
Against JV Butler hits really well.

By the fourth inning, it was all tied up,
Cause Salvador Perez drove in two runs.
The Royals loaded the bases in the Fourth
With no one out, Verlander needed help.

Santiago caught a hard line drive,
Caine scored, Getz beat the double play at first.
Verlander loads the bases once again,
By walking Gordon after a full count.

He walked Mustakas to walk in a run,
With bases loaded, that was not too good,
Chris Getz twisted his ankle in the fifth,
And Hosner fell and didn't make the tag.

Avila's double ties it up five-five,
Muostakas homers, making it six-five.
Billy Butler's beef was accurate,
The ball did hit the ground off his foul tip.

Smyly retired the side, like one-two-three,
But Holland, the Royals closer, was too good.
Martinez thought he had a tying homer,
But it fell short, and so the Tigers lost.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

#68 Oh Beloved Coffee Maker!

Oh Beloved Coffee Maker!
You stand the watches of the night,
While stars do spectacle vast inky heavens,
And rosy-fingered dawn doth make the sky blood red,
Thou stands the watches of the night and early morn.

Oh Beloved Coffee Maker!
Loyal subject, who waits on me
With patient servitude,
Who brings me back to life,
Hence from slumbers, where I take respite.

Oh Beloved Coffee Maker!
What foul and loathsome beast
I would become, if thou did not
Redeem me to a better state,
And all the shrieking fiends of Hell
Wouldst cower before me,
If your fidelity, broken, left me bereft.

Peace! Oh growling spirit
That within my hollow form dost stir,
This is the Coffee, the Heaven's Brew
That comes from warmer climes,
That brings peace to a warlike soul,
And fosters there sweet humanity.

Bring forth thy soothing balm:
It soothes me,
It awakens me,
It opens my eyes,
And upon this haggard visage
Brings a semblance of peace.

Oh Beloved Coffee Maker,
Thou hast redeemed me.
I raise another cup.
I raise another cup.
Oh Beloved Coffee Maker.

Thursday, June 06, 2013


When walking your dog, put two Snickers bars (wrapped) in a white plastic grocery bag. It looks like you picked up dog poop, but really, they're just two snickers bars. Then if your dog poops, PRETEND to pick up the poop. It will look like you are a responsible dog owner, when really, you are inconsiderate and lazy. After the walk, enjoy a Snickers bar!

"Paunchy Mimes"

Here are some titles for bands, movies, plays, or books that will never be used, featuring "Paunchy Mimes."

  1. Paunchy Mimes
  2. Valley of The Paunchy Mimes
  3. Attack of The Paunchy Mimes
  4. Waiting Room Filled With Paunchy Mimes
  5. Hairless Paunchy Mimes
  6. Shirtless Paunchy Mimes
  7. Pantless Paunchy Mimes
  8. Rest Stop of Paunchy Mimes
  9. I Was Saliva-Swabbed at The Police Checkpoint of Paunchy Mimes
  10. Home Alone With Drunken Paunchy Mimes
  11. Paunchy Mimes Al Qaeda Shark Attack
  12. Paunchy Mimes Vaccine

Monday, April 22, 2013

#69 Cradle to Grave

Cradle to grave,
Cradle to grave,
Everyone hurries from
Cradle to grave.

Cut them some slack,
That's how they behave,
As everyone hurries
From cradle to grave.

Monday, April 08, 2013


The Ice Cream Cats of Antioch bore down on our cities in their silver ships. Merciless, clear-eyed, and silent, they were precise in their attacks on our infrastructure. They quickly took down power plants, bridges, military installations, and highways. As an extra warning, they took down exactly one hundred water towers: a demonstration of both their power, and their restraint.

How quickly mankind capitulated when faced with the overwhelming power of the Ice Cream Cats.  Then came the humiliating signing of surrender at the UN. The Ice Cream Cats said nothing. Aloof, looking bored, they collected the signatures of world leaders, and then returned to their silver ships. Thus began the reign of the Ice Cream Cats of Antioch.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Monday, February 25, 2013

#70 Thursdays In Heaven

When I got to the Pearly Gates
(My reward I earned as a man)
They gave me a pack of Camels,
And smoked oysters in a can.

I took the bus to the pool hall,
On the seedy side of town,
On a random Thursday morning,
I just kind of hung around.

There's a guy in a Marlboro tracksuit
Telling tales of Vietnam,
And a guy yelling into a cell phone,
Disagreements with his mom.

I lunched on convenience-store pizza
With my last five dollar bill,
But later I met a dead-beat,
We got high and watched Dr. Phil.

In the evening, I walked to the highway,
And headed out of town.
Eternity's nice on the weekends,
But the weekdays get you down.

Saturday, January 05, 2013


These rags hang about me in sad rot, sad, unclean decay, and they steam in the fiery heat of the banks of the very river of fire, the great Styx. I am beyond worrying about my appearance. It does look ominous, however. Cowl, scythe, bony being, I.

And I am called a Monster. Death they call me. So I try not to be seen.  But they call me. The old. The sick. The unfortunate. The violent. The mad. The addicted. The suicides and fools.

They call me, so I go. To roadsides and bedsides and everywhere my little trade takes me. Almost always unwelcome. Sometimes unlooked for. Almost never embraced.

But, sometimes sought out. Those seekers of the deeper peace. Those mortal coil shufflers. Bridge Leapers and Pill Gobblers. Razor Blades and Rat Poisons. Depressed Gloomers in dark blue apartments. Dusk-sighing spurned lovers. Catatonic, medicated mules in tiny dusty offices.

Well shod bankrupts in large houses. Beautiful bulimics in smeared mascara.

So they call, and I go. But mostly, I arrive unbidden. To roadside wreckage. To chest-clutching, obese alcoholics. The occasional aneurysm at a sales conference. The backyard barbecue, the late night snack that only goes halfway, and stops up the pipes.

One minute before the paramedics, five years after the diagnosis, or, SURPRISE! On someone's birthday, or Christmas Eve, or on some random Tuesday afternoon, when no one expects me.

Sometimes the television is on, stared at by unseeing eyes. Sometimes I will sit on the sofa next to my cooling charge and we will watch together: fitness infomercials and news stories and cooking shows. Sometimes we sit for days until the concerned neighbor or adult child finally starts banging on the door.

And always, the cell phone. Sometimes still in the very cold hand, it will ring and ring, until it goes to voicemail. And after awhile, it will ring again. A corpse can get a lot of texts. I never read them, because I would be tempted to answer them.

In the silent forest, the sightless man glares up at the cold, cruel stars. And there's his cell phone. The opening strains of "The Final Countdown" echoes among the redwoods. Does it make a sound?

Fish nibbling at peaceful faces. Ants crawling across sightless eyeballs.

"Your troubles are over," I always want to say, "relax." But they never see me. They are often in no condition to relax. They only relax afterward. But before, there is always some glimmer of hope in all that fear, so I am only a hint. Only an idea. They cannot truly imagine.

I like my work piecemeal. I don't like when they die wholesale, but they do. Oh, slaughter most foul, much too often. When it is a large group, they sing a dirge as we plod slowly along, single file to . . .

To where, you ask? That is a secret. Not where you think. Not where you have been told. Oh no. If you don't know, you should ask somebody.

Yes, you. Because someday, you and I will meet. Any random Tuesday maybe. In the afternoon, or early some frosty winter morning. Could be later today, or in about a week, or a year, or a lifetime from now, but you should remember. Do that thing you were planning sooner than later. Remember me, and all arguments should cease. Say that thing to that someone now, not later.

And remember: if it says, "NOT A STEP," take heed.  You would be surprised how many people ignore that to their peril.

Tuesday, January 01, 2013

More Now / Less Then in 2013.

More 13 / Less 12.
More Word / Less Warcraft.
More Fiction / Less Facebook.
More Running / Less Reruns.
More Awareness / Less Angst.

About Me

My photo
I am the author of 5 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, The Cubicles of Madness, Robot Stories, and most recently, Various Meats and Cheeses. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at danmanning.com